Snippets
by Snowley
Summary: Some DriftRod shorts
1. A bad dream

_This is the end_

 _My only friend_

 _The end_

 _Of our elaborate plans_

 _The end_

 _Of everything thatrf4x stands_

 _ThE e110d_

 _I'11 nEVer s00 y0ur sm 1101_

 _01100001 01100111 01100001 01101001 01101110_

The flowers bloomed so beautifully, so elegantly. Their vibrant blue petals shined as if they were little suns, every single one of them housing and giving life to myriads of circling worlds. He took one of the flowers and he heard a squirm. He felt a sting. Was it a dying breath of thousands of worlds he just destroyed on a whim? He raised the flower and looked at with light-orange sky as the background. He thought about his own universe. If it was similar, a flower on a field, it wasn't in such a serene plane as here. It was tampered, on fire, attacked by parasites and eaten by beasts. The wind blew strong and the flower freed itself from his grip and flew away.

He realized now, someone was with him. Were they here just now or were they here since eternity, he couldn't tell.

"Drift." the other spoke. Hearing this name, this name... it was familiar, it had a facture, a taste, like blood. Then he remembered. He took a form, his body took shape, his thoughts found a singular place to exist and he became small and limited again.

"Drift." the voice repeated. It had a form now too, but not physical. It was warmth, it was fire, it was God. "Drift!" the voice was also fearful, concerned, ugly.

"Please, come back." The voice pleaded.

"But I don't want to. I want to sleep." as he said/thought that, he lost his form and forgot his life again. He was covered in bliss, and he knew in the eternity before him he's going to perish, loose everything. The feeling of cold lingered first, then overtook him.

"Don't you dare!" the voice was now a thunder. "Don't you dare to die on me!" it added after a millennia, but now it was just an echo. The voice was raspy and panicked, so awfully sad and desperate. No, he did not want that. He was just a speck on the blue flower flowing in the wind, nothing else. He was a glimpse of its shine cached in a corner of an eye. Then he perished gladly.

"Open! Open this fragging slag!" someone yelled from the outside. They wanted to find shelter here, where Rodimus took wounded Drift, as if weak, metal garage could save them now. It was Unicron attacking and when a god of death attacks, you can't do anything about it. You truly can't. But hope was mother of all fools, and it loved deluding its spawn. "Open up! Op-" the door opened with a snap, and they ran inside, taking in what they saw. Sprawled on the floor lied Drift, or at least what remained of him – a formless heap of twisted metal, barely resembling bots' helm and torso. His parts were littering the floor, forming a line from the door were to where he lied. He must have been on a ground zero- where Unicron lied his gargantuan hand on the surface of Cybertron and crushed everything and everybody unfortunate to stand under his grab. Above Drift hovered Rodimus, one hand deep in Drift's chestplate. He was gently touching Drift's spark, and small bolts of electricity traveled from his fingers to its grey surface.

The curious bots circled them, taking in the morbid sight.

"I think he's gone, Prime." stated the one standing just behind Rodimus. "You can't revive a dead spark. I'm sorry."

"No… no no no. No, _I_ can." replied Rodimus. His voice was hollow, but his optics shined like mad. He was bleeding plasma heavily, it's droplets so hot they evaporated in the air. A thick smoke started to gather. "It's just not enough."

Suddenly, an electric charge overtook them. The current jumped from one mech to the next, and it found its destiny in one point – Rodimus' hand. The bots shook violently, and then collapsed at the same time, grey and lifeless. Rodimus held a ball of lightning and put it closer to Drift's spark. The charge swirled around it like a bunch of hungry worms, and the spark flickered. For a millisecond, it shone blue, but it was as quick as a trick of a light.

"It's not enough."


	2. A good dream

_AN Notes: I don't like parts of this story (rrrrreeeeeeaaaalllllyyyy clumsy dialogue) and I rewrote the beginning one thousand times. I'm still not happy with it but whatever, better to publish that hide it on my PC._

 _BTW this is sappy romantic porn._

When was the first time Rodimus realized his feelings? When they reunited after he banished Drift out of the ship for half of a year? Later, when Drift was painting his helm, his cheerful face mere centimeters from his? Before that, when they spent time together on the bridge, fantasizing about Cyberutopia? When they first met?

Well, when they first met Rod only glimpsed at Drift, noting he has a truly fine form. At first Drift was nothing more than an exquisite object, nice to put your spike in. The white armor with features shamelessly accented by bright details made him look incredibly delicate in spite of being actually quite broad; he was curvy and spikey at the same time. There was certain grace in his movements that bordered on lascivious, and you knew that pure smile hides some really dirty secrets. It made you want to touch him, feel him under your digits, press and see how he'll react.

Then the friendship came – it was funny how they found a common ground in small things, playing and having fun, and yet there was more to that, if not a deep trust, than a need for it. A certain want to be understood, unforgotten, dependent, and being depended on.

The thing was, the more time he spent with Drift, the more he believed in scriptures. For Pit's sake, it was hard not to – Drift was some sort of medium, and it's easy to start regarding premonitions as true when you are standing right next to someone who experiences them. It's either that, or calling him insane. Their whole journey was based on Drift's vision – although at first it was just a good excuse to leave the planet – and with time he truly saw a purpose and fate in what was going on.

Probably they were both insane.

But the biggest insanity and injustice in the world would be making this, whatever evolved between them, a simple frag.

And this way his lingering became forbidden fruit. The more he was trying to forget about Drift and not tempt his fate, the more he consumed his every thought. When he convinced himself that his prudency was a hypocritical load of scrap and tried to approach Drift, he fell into a loop of fear and doubt. Drift really adored him, he knew this very well, he used it for his advantage not once nor twice. But he knew that for Drift it was solely because he was a Prime (technically at least) - it was a borderline religious worship. Drift wanted his love, but in a different way - if Rodimus tried to change their dynamic, it could destroy their relationship entirely. Besides, he had many other concerns he had to deal before he even started to think about romancing.

He didn't expect that Drift himself would make a move first.

Drift didn't look very pleased, wearing a frown instead of an usual wide smile.

"I don't like this." he approached Rodimus slowly, minding his distance.

"I can tell." replied Rodimus, not taking optics from the power cables he was helping fixing. They were repairing this dead Decepticon (what was his name? Wastebin?) to make a ship out of him and finally leave the damned Necroworld. "But I can't read your mind, you gotta tell me _what_ you don't like...Was he a friend of yours?"

"No. I mean, I knew him, barely. I don't like you. I... I don't like you right now."

Rodimus left the dangling cables, stood up and faced Drift.

"What do you mean?" Rodimus tried as he could to cover up the sudden rush of confusion and guilt he felt by "casually" folding his arms and leaning against halfway transformed 'con. The metal groaned under the pressure of his body.

"Oh Primus, he's gonna fall apart as soon as we start leaving the atmosphere. A nice, fiery death, oh yeah!" Whirl exclaimed cheerfully from the other side of the bona fide ship.

"Um, we should probably go somewhere else to talk." Drift looked towards where Whirl's voice came from.

"Aw man, I promise I won't eavesdrop on your sparkmates quarrel!" Whirl sounded quite mischievously.

"We're not- _"_

"I won't eavesdrop either, Captain!" it was Rewind, his helm suddenly emerging from under the ship. Somebody else laughed.

"Okay, sons of glitches, I'll be taking a break and when I come back and don't see any progress, you'll all be fined by Ultra Magnus." Rodimus gestured towards Necrobot's dome, and Drift agreed with a nod. He still tried to hold a serious face, but seriousness can't hold when you have a bunch of idiots around.

"Aye aye, Captain!"

"You know where Magnus can put his fines?! In his-"

"Magnus stands right next to you, you fragging drone!"

"...In his fines catalogue. That's what I was about to say."

"Your brain is what's in a catalogue. Of the missing parts."

"Bots, chill, I'll give Magnus a round of shots on the bar when we come back and we're golden."

"More like half a glass of oiled down energon spritzer..."

"SHUT! UP!"

As Rodimus was leaving behind the work site, he had to agree Magnus had some impressive volume. Meanwhile Drift stayed silent, gloomy and distant. Rodimus fought with the urge to just transform and roll the frag out of here, still thinking what wrong did he do _this time_.

They entered the building. Drift took one of the corridors and went to an empty room – they investigated a bit earlier and Censere had a lot of those – it looked like his dome was built to house a whole tribe, not a single lonely gardener. Rodimus slowly closed the door behind him and stood right next to them, as if ready to escape. Drift turned to him, but looked only at his peds.

"What do you not like about me?" Rodimus sliced the silence. "Or do mean you don't like me in general?" as he spoke those words, he instantly grew bitter.

"No, no. I don't know how to put this... I don't like how angry you are."

"Angry? How so?"

"The whole Getaway thing – Drift glanced at him. – "... See? You see? You make that face again. Clenched teeth and all. And when you left Megatron, and after Overlord... I understand you're upset. You should be upset! But you make that face more often than before... Are you all right?"

"You are all over the place, you know." Rodimus couldn't help but be amused - Drift, who usually could make a zealous speech on a spot, couldn't find words - but he realized his smile probably looked sly and unkind so he stroke his cheeks to ease his face pistons. "I am all right. It's... not that simple."

"Will you kill Getaway?"

Rodimus looked down, as if he also tried to find whatever Drift dropped here and was searching for so intently.

"I'm thinking about it. But yeah. There are more arguments for 'yes' than 'no'." – saying it… it felt detached, as is someone else was talking in his voice.

"All right. It's… good to know. I'll support you no matter what." – Drift sighed.

"Really? Because for a second I thought you dragged me here to make me realize the secrecy of life and Autobot code."

"Hah, no. Actually I just used my Decepticon skills." Drift finally raised his helm and smiled. "It was a test. I sneakily checked out if you were honest with me. If you lashed out on me or denied... well. You'd be lying."

"Wow, you really got me, what are you, Starscream?" Rodimus smiled back, but was actually quite shaken, a little mad even. "And what for was your little deception?"

"So I could like you again. So I could truly trust you. And be honest too." – Drift hugged his arms close to his chest. – "The time I spent away from the Lost Light got me thinking about my place in the world. And about us. I realized I belong here. I never really belonged anywhere. I had many stops in life, but I couldn't keep myself in one place. I know it's outdated to live for a function and it's exactly what I fought against all my life. Now I think I never knew what "function" really means. It brings purpose and meaning, and with it stability. I realized that freedom lies in opportunities to become what you desire. You gave me an opportunity. And I want this."

Drift knelt down before Rodimus and put his hands on his chestplate.

"My Prime, living face of Primus the Father, The Marked One, The Leader, The Martyr, The Conqueror" as he spoke, Drift's chestplate opened and had shown his spark, naked and fragile, no brighter than a wolfram light that illuminated the room. "My very being belongs to you. Every day of my life belongs to you, and is yours to dictate. I'm your servant. Will you accept me?"

Rodimus was speechless. It was a ceremony as old as time, reserved for those truly faithful to their Prime. It meant to give everything to a Prime and become a will-less tool in their hand – it was an act of absolute submission. Afterwards Prime could order you anything, or just kill you and he didn't need any reason, because a bot after this ceremony was not a person anymore – no name, designation, private life - just an extension of Prime's will. There were words he was made to learn – of acceptance or decline, but he wouldn't say them even if he remembered them. Instead, he kneeled down as well, or more like fell to the ground.

"I don't deserve you." - he almost chocked on his words. The plasma in his optics swirled so much he could barely see. It was just too much to contain. But then, a sudden cynic thought poisoned his mind "Wait… you… I know you…" - he stood up again and Drift followed the suit, his spark still bare – "you think you could influence me… sacrifice yourself so I could be _good_ again? Delude me into believing you're just a servant so you could manipulate me? That's what you're playing?" – Rodimus looked down at him.

"That's not true…" whispered Drift. He looked at him with shocked, wide optics. "That's not true!" – he repeated desperately.

"Then what is? What was all this "I don't like you now" talk? Why are you doing this? Why now?" Drift backed away and turned his helm, as if Rodimus just slapped him.

"Yes, I want you to be better! You're not like that, so bitter and paranoid! I just want to let you know, you're not alone. That I'm with you. Even if you think the whole world isn't. Primus, I'm no good with expressing my feelings so I just wanted to show you." Drift took a long pause, giving Rodimus quick, frightened looks, clearly bracing himself. "I want you to know I love you."

Rodimus could feel his whole body heating up from a mix of embarrassment and bewilderment. He broke the distance between them and hugged Drift tightly, if only just to hold him like he was trying to hold his spinning mind. After a while of electric shocks going through his overfunctioning body, he was able to speak. He took Drift by the arms and looked him straight in the optics.

"I accept your vow, but on a condition." Drift's optics shined brighter, matched only by the shine of his spark.

Rodimus' chestplate also divided itself, showing his very being that lied inside. – "That you accept me also."

Now Drift was in a total awe.

"You can't do this. Prime should love all his disciples equally." - Drift looked at him meekly, but his protest was a very weak one.

"Oh, shut up. You've seen how I like following the rules." - Rodimus took him into a tight hug again, and their bare sparks began to resonate.

Drift was like a warm wave, coming and receding in a steady pace. After a short while of awkward numbness his servos started wandering a bit around Prime's mid-section, clearly feeling more comfortable with intimacy. Rodimus waited patiently for Drift to acclimate, finding comfort in the warmth, steadying his racing thoughts. Then he adjusted a little, so their sparks would almost touch. As he did that Drift shook in surprise. The pace of vibration changed, it was becoming increasingly faster and chaotic, with hiccups of big charges jumping back and forth. Drift clutched to him as if he was trying for them to merge and his whole body was emitting waves of heat.

"How do you feel?" Rodimus wondered if Drift knew what was going on. He hoped he wasn't crossing the line. He felt Drift's spark, now touching his, and it was very pleasant feeling, but it was just like a weak echo – his, powered by the remaining powers of the Matrix, was much stronger and Drift was coming undone under its power.

"I'm… ah… I'm good. It's good."

Rodimus was ready to scoff at him for being only "good" but decided to keep quiet. Didn't want this little bot to run away now.

"Do you want more?" Rodimus asked teasingly. Drift couldn't see it, but Rodimus smiled sweetly at what a pleasure it was to not only see Drift loosing himself, but actually be the one making it happen. His stiffness, uneven gasps - it was so obvious he was a novice in sparkplay. This might even be his first time. The sole thought of that made Rodimus' engines rev up. In a heat of action, not waiting for a response he deliberately moved forward – as their sparks pressed on each other, for a second a steady current connected them.

Drift overloaded in quite spectacular way – a huge wave of electricity hit the roof and broke all the lights. Then he went limp in Rodimus' arms.

Prime lied him flat on the floor, partly amused, partly worried and partly frustrated. It was the first time he gave a mech such a good overload he'd went offline. In such a short time too. It's a shame he didn't get much out of it though. He checked the biometrics – Drift was alive, but unconscious. …maybe this was a bad idea? What a powerful, Matrix-enriched spark does to a weak, constructed cold one? What if it's really bad? How do you tell if someone has a spark attack?!

As he was reaching out to call Ratchet, his mind rushing to compile excuses and half-truthful explanations, he saw a dull flash. It was Drift, logging in back into reality.

"How are you?" Rodimus kneeled down and smiled at him softly. Drift's face, covered in the light blue of his optics and deep shadows, was showing a delicate mix of satisfaction and coquetry. He couldn't be more beautiful than he was now. His hands reached for his chest, giving his own spark a little stroke before he closed the panels. Rodimus laughed at such a bold gesture.

"What?" now Drift looked embarrassed and quickly picked himself from the floor. It looked like he was threading some new ground here and didn't want to be obscene.

"Nothing. I just thought we might try something. You keep your spark out, I keep mine covered." – Rodimus grabbed him gently by the hips and pulled closer. Drift looked a bit confused and went stiff again, which made Rodimus halt a bit and his heat subside, but he still was exited beyond belief. – "So you wouldn't overload so quickly. We could… play… a bit more. Um, you did interface before, right?"

Now Drift started to laugh – and it wasn't flirty or embarrassed. He took a step backward, freeing himself from the embrace, crossed a small space and sat on a metal, polished table – the only furniture in the whole room. He put one leg over the other, stretching his peds, then shot Rodimus a curt look. - "I give my will and body for a Prime to use."

"Honestly, I've waited for this far too long." – Rodimus couldn't help but notice how cold and impersonal Drift sounded like and felt as his arousal was getting weaker with every passing second. What the hell did he say or do wrong? "Am I pushing you?"

"You've made me collapse. Give a bot some time to recollect."

"If I make you uncomfortable just say so." – Rodimus hoped his voice properly covered how upset he was. Even though Drift didn't say "no" his whole body told otherwise – arms crossed, helm down, optics concentrated on his peds. He actually looked troubled, Rodimus noticed. - "Did I hurt you? But… you seemed happy before."

"No. You didn't hurt me." Drift paused. How could he tell the truth? It was difficult to live on the streets, he needed money. For food. And for drugs. He had no useful skills, mediocre alt-mode, but he had a nice form. So there was one sure source of shanix – interfacing. All of them, those who fragged him in a smelly, dark back alleys, all of them started like that – something gentle, a touch, a word, a compliment – until the weak spell broke and it was disgustingly obvious what they really wanted. Every time someone called him beautiful it was like a spit in the face, they would take him like animals, pushing, pulling and tearing. Their initial courtesy was a lie to feel better about themselves.

Their sparklplay was truly divine, more of an experience than any experience before. But when Rodimus started talking about 'facing, surrounded by a thick darkness, all hot and bothered… he didn't seem that different from other bots before him and Drift's tanks turned.

No, Rodimus wasn't like that. Interfacing was just a normal thing, and it meant affection, not humiliation. Drift knew that, but still couldn't contain a feeling of dread that overtook him. "I have had some bad experiences." Rodimus was just a dark shape before him. It seemed he had shut down his optics and biolights.

"Okay. Can I sit next to you?"

"Of course."

The shape moved and sat on the table. Rodimus put his digits on Drift's hand. His EM field was gentle and warm, effulging Drift in a soothing aura.

"I'm sorry."

Drift looked at him, feeling like he was going to burst. He could not see him, but he did see everything there was. He was crying, in a way his race cried – emitting a dissonant electromagnetic wave of deep sadness and delicate relief. Rodimus welcomed his feelings in silence, took them and responded with so much understanding, so much empathy. Yes, that was why Drift loved the bot next to him.

"Thank you."


End file.
